The Journal
by JenLea
Summary: In his darkest hours, the old journal proves to be Tom Collins' best friend. AngelCollins ANGST.


The Journal

Rage against the Dying of the Light 

Summary: In his darkest hours, the old journal is Tom Collins best friend.

Pairing: Angel/Collins

Disclaimer: I own no one you recognize. The poem Collins quotes belong to Dylan Thomas.

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Collins gently ran his lips over Angel's sweat drenched forehead. As chills enveloped him, Collins slowly tightened his grip on the young man, hoping it was somehow comforting in the man's delirious state.

"Shh," he murmured, hoping something he said got through to his lover. "It'll be morning before you know it and that'll show you survived another night." His voice was choked with tears. Slowly, he began to back and forth, still cradling Angel, as if he were a baby.

The hospital room somehow seemed confine, almost too small. The thick scent of Lysol almost smothered Collins and never failed to cause a choking fit. The bile green walls agitated his eyes. Somehow, he couldn't see this, as a place where someone got well it was a place someone would go to _die. _

The nurse came in, ignoring the other man in the room, holding her patient. She knew Angel had no family, and she couldn't bear to see him alone, when there was someone who loved him dearly confined in the waiting room…just waiting for news.

"His fever's up," she commented, reading the thermometer. "I have never seen a patient fight so hard…they usually want rest, but he just keeps fighting."

"He's raging against the dying of the light." Collins murmured. "_Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light." _His hand moved to Angel's forehead, and then drifted towards his chest. Wiping his hand on the sheet, he realized Angel was covered in a fine coat of sweat.

"Here." The nurse murmured, leaving a white washcloth and a basin of water. "Sponge him off." She turned on her heel, and left. Dipping the cloth into the water, he gently ran it over Angel's head.

Before Collins knew it, the kindly nurse was shaking him awake, urging him to leave the room. They had this routine down to a science, and had yet to be caught.

"Go before I have to lead my relief on rounds." She murmured, gently shoving him toward the waiting room. "If we haven't gotten caught yet, I don't intend to."

Collins was pained at the thought of leaving Angel. He was afraid of his lover having to die alone, while he was out of the room.

Tom Collins never went anywhere without that old leather journal. It served as his confidante and best friend. Every major event was scribbled in it, and it showed the evolution of a man.

_This nurse, Ella, is so kind to my dying Angel. She just wants someone to be with him when he dies. I can't blame her for I want to be with him when he dies…She wants me to say goodbye, but I can't. How can I say goodbye to the love of my life?_

Leaning on the pink leather chair, he decided to compose his goodbye…at the end of the day, every light had to go out somehow…

_To my Angel, _

_The best thing I can do is tell you that it's time to rest, to go to Heaven and be happy with your Lord. _

_You don't eat anymore, all you do is sleep and breathe (just barely)…and you're comatose with a terrible fever. In fact, I have spent the entire night up, trying to calm and coax your fever into breaking._

_I never knew you could grow to love someone so much in such a short amount of time…you have made me believe, Love. Loving you was my Magnum Opus, my Great Work._

_I hate seeing you in pain. I hate seeing your hollow eyes. I just want your eyes to be vibrant and full of life. _ _I miss the Angel I fell in love with. All I get is you, so sick, so weak…not my Angel Eyes. _

_Go to Peace, My Angel. I'll see you in the next life._

_Love,_

_Collins._

Collins settled into the chair. It lacked comfortable corners. All he needed was sleep, which was almost impossible for a man his size in a chair like that.

He woke up, cramped; to a nurse's gentle shaking. He jumped up, almost stumbling forward.

"It's time." She said. "He's starting to slip away." Collins ran towards the room. He was surprised to see nurses watching, attempting nothing. Then, he realized they only want Angel to have a peaceful and pain free death.

Collins found himself, back in that narrow bed, clutching his lover, trying to ease the transition. Then, the LCD line descended, extinguishing the light that had been Angel Dumott Schunard.

All Collins could do was be grateful that he had been there for his lover's death. It was the only good thing to come out of a horrible situation.  
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